


Panic at Ravenstonedale

by DragonsinGondolin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is hired as a private tutor, Crowley as a gardener, I'll ignore historical homophobia because I can, M/M, Regency Era, but what about our duo? you'll see, the angels and demons are humans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-05-12 09:18:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsinGondolin/pseuds/DragonsinGondolin
Summary: First half of the 19th century - Anthony J. Crowley is hired by the new proprietor of Ravenstonedale Manor as a gardener. Mister Aziraphale (no Christian name given) is hired as a private tutor for the Lord's son. Things happen that were not altogether planned by either side.





	1. Chapter 1

Anthony J. Crowley – he would never, in a thousand years, reveal what the J. actually stood for, thank you very much – arrived at the Manor on a bright sunny morning. It had taken him the most part of two days to come down from Edinburgh, and he had stopped in the nearby town of Penrith the night before, departing for the final leg of his journey before the day had even risen and reaching the house by mid-morning.  
The air was fresh and still damp from the rains of the previous night, and it was clear that the sunny weather was only temporary. Nevertheless, as he reached the back door and ringed the bell at its side, the sun rays were shining on him, making him particularly happy he had his sunglasses on, a contraption he had acquired a few years ago and which had been a most precious possession of his. He had always had very sensitive eyes.

A short figure with a severe expression opened the door hurriedly, all dressed in black and greys, and stared him up and down for a moment.  
Crowley was tall and lanky. He seemed to possess enough limbs to equip the entire population of a small village. This slenderness was only accentuated by his strange gait which perpetually made him look half drunk and half- well, whatever in the heaven that was. His hair was a fiery red and, of course, he was wearing this stupid thing over his eyes, so they could not make up what colour they were. He had sharp features and a long face. Not disagreeable to look at, but they would not have called him a classical beauty. He was more of an ‘oddly endearing’ type of fellow. His garments were strangely fashionable for a man of his station – because who else than a domestic would come knocking on the back door of the house in the middle of the morning with a suitcase in hand. He was dressed in the high pantaloons commonly worn by men and the sort of long tailcoat which back almost reached the knee. All of it perfectly black, which in itself was intriguing, but what made it even more disconcerting was that it all seemed to be made of fine fabric and seemed to have coast probably more than he should have been able to spare. Moreover, completing the frock was a cravat protruding from his waistcoat, both black as well. And who had ever heard of a black cravat, really? Had he been wearing stockings, they would have laughed at his face, but he had very practical riding boots on. Still, it was a strange accoutrement for a common man.  
Truth be told, the person did not seem very impressed by what they saw. A lot of unnecessary finery, and too trendy for their taste. Their thoughts were apparent in the tone they used to address him – a tired and matter-of-fact voice.

“Yes? What is it?”  
“I’m Anthony Crowley.”  
“Ah, the new gardener.”

He did not answer verbally, but opened his arms as if to show his figure. This was his way of saying ‘I am’ or ‘ta-dah’. Theatrical. They arched an eyebrow but did not comment.

“Well, I’m Beelzebub, the housekeeper, and generally in charge of keeping you lot in place.”

What needs to be clarified about the workings of a big house is as follow: there was the family on the one end and the domestics on the other, but all domestics were not equal in status. There were those who did the heavy manual labour – such as housekeeping, gardening, cooking – and those whose task it was to be petty and pompous, but who hardly ever lifted a finger themselves… or so it was the profound belief of the people belonging to the first category – among which Beelzebub was. In fact, Beelzebub was particular about things needing to be done and how they needed to be done.  
They explained all of it extensively to Crowley as they walked across the lawn in direction of the Shed – and a big shed it was… one might as well call it a small house. And it was, as a matter of fact, a small house generally inhabited by the gardener, which also happened to house the tools necessary for said gardener to do his job. Yet the people of the House were used to calling it the Shed and so the Shed it was.

Beelsebub took a rather heavy set of iron keys from their pocket and opened the front door of the Shed. They then pushed the same keys into his hands.

“You’ll need that,” they said without elaborating on which key served what purpose.

The Shed consisted in a two-story little brick house with ivy crawling all over the outside walls. From what he could see, the first floor consisted in two rooms – a kitchen and a sort of parlour, the former with a small fireplace. He supposed the second floor had at least a bedroom, but that was the sort of information he would have to wait to find out. Beelzebub was already motioning for him to follow her outside, to a small space adjacent to the house which actually contained his working implements. There, they turned to him and recited in the same serious and flat tone.

“We already provided some food for you, and you’ve got the linen and everyday utensils as well. All you need is already there, but you can still call at the House if you need. But don’t you go bothering us for no reason, though. It’s a busy place, here.”

He looked at them with a blank face and it was difficult to determine what he was thinking while his glasses were on. He did not comment, but nodded slowly. And with that, Beelzebub was bidding him good day and making their way back to the house across the lawn.

Well then, might as well make himself at home. He took his suitcase inside and closed the door behind him.

-

Mister Aziraphale – he did not care to explain where such a name came from, and he would rather be damned than to say what his Christian name was – arrived on the same day, but it was already evening and the rain had started again. His journey was supposedly approximately the same length as Crowley’s, except that his starting point was in the opposite direction, in Hull, where his previous position had been. He had started about the same time, too, but there had been no fresh horses at the ready in Middleham and the carriage he was in had to wait for an awfully long time there. Mister Aziraphale however, as per his generally cheerful and good-natured personality, had simply been happy to enjoy more cake and tea at the comfortable local inn. It was certainly a much pleasanter experience than the bumpy ride and the clattering of horseshoes.  
Now, fumbling to open his umbrella and to take his leather suitcase from the roof as he exited the carriage, he proceeded to make his way toward the back door slowly and rang the same bell as Crowley had earlier. Beelzebub was once again the person who opened the door, and they looked at him in the same manner – though her gaze was significantly less unimpressed as with Crowley… for the reason that it was simply not possible to remain neutral faced with such a display, to be quite honest.

Mister Aziraphale was a comfortable-looking fellow, with a round and eager face, soft clear eyes, and a generally debonair look about him. Nothing of note about this in particular. However, his clothing was certainly singular. Much less practical than Crowley’s and more ostentatious. For starter, he seemed to favour cream-colour and beige and light grey. This was certainly not the sort of colours everybody wore. At least black was sensible. Moreover, he was not wearing pantaloons, nor the usual long tailcoat. In fact, his clothes could only be described as old-fashioned – positively previous century even. Pants that stopped just bellow the knee and stockings. Stockings! They had to really focus on not laughing. Add to this a ridiculous shirt with bouffant embroidered sleeves and a silk-like shimmering waistcoat, plus one of those overcoats that were ridiculously short in the front, and a slim cravat that was tied in a bow around his neck. This was a lot to take in, and Beelzebub was unsure of where to even start.  
They raised their gaze to meet his, expectant and oblivious to the turmoil his clothing had provoked. They cleared their throat, mentally shaking themselves.

“You are the tutor for the young master, I suppose?”  
“Good evening to you. Yes, I am. I apologize for the late hour, but we had to wait for horses to be procured and-” he interrupted himself, realising Beelzebub was only half listening, “anyway, here I am now.”  
“Right. Follow me Mister…”  
“Oh, sorry, A.Z. Fell.”

He followed them inside the House. The back door opened into the kitchen, but they rapidly crossed it and reached another room, which opened into a corridor, which in turn led them into the entrance. Aziraphale was trying his best to shake the rain from his clothes as they emerged from the corridor, silently wondering if he should have asked for some sort of brush to tidy himself. Well, too late now. He also tried to commit to his memory the way to the kitchen that he was walking. The kitchen was, from his point of view, the most important part of a house… with the library. But not all houses had a library, so his favourite part of the house usually was the kitchen anyway. Well, this house was certainly big enough to have a library, something he was particularly excited about.  
A man was descending the stairs in the entrance just as they reached it, a candle in his hand, and Beelzebub hailed him as they approached.

“Ah Gabriel! This one is for you.”

The severe squared face of the man only moved to admit a short smile, which faded just a bit as he considered Aziraphale’s clothes. He looked at him with an intense stare, and his voice as he started talking had a cold and dismissive undertone.

“Ah, the tutor, I imagine! I was wondering what had happened to you.”  
“My apologies. There was a delay due to… hm… horse complications.”  
“These things happen, indeed.”

Beelzebub had made a swift retreat into their own domain, leaving the two of them alone in the entrance. As previously stated, all domestics were not on an equal footing, and this was well above Beelzebub’s duties. Mister Aziraphale and Gabriel belonged to the aforementioned second category, the one who did not have to get their hands dirty and spent most of their time thinking, if you could imagine. Gabriel’s smile returned with more force as he kept talking to Aziraphale.

“I am the Majordomo, and in charge of making sure the house is well organised. I am, therefore, technically your superior for the duration of your mission,” he took a pocket watch from his waistcoat, “I am afraid it is too late to meet your charge. Master Warlock is currently being put to bed by the nanny. But I will introduce you personally tomorrow, of course.”  
“Much obliged,” Aziraphale felt the need to answer.  
“For now, I will show you to your room. Follow me.”

And with that, he led the tutor upstairs and into another corridor, then another stair up two more stories. This was obviously the domain of the domestics of the House. The decoration of the floor was neither grand nor rich by any stretch of the imagination, but it looked comfortable enough for their purpose. Gabriel opened a door to his right, motioning to Aziraphale to enter. The tutor did not need to be told twice. He placed the suitcase on the floor, relieved to finally get rid of the weight, and turned to the Majordomo still standing in the threshold.

“Here is your room, Mister Fell. I will leave you to your rest. I assume you are in need of some after your travels. Come find me in the kitchen tomorrow and I will show you your charge and your classroom.”  
“Thank you, Mister Gabriel.”

The man gave a little nod and disappeared into the corridor. Aziraphale closed the door behind him and gave another look around the room. Well, here he was now. He hoped things were going to be all right.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale entered the kitchen on the next morning at 8AM precisely. He would not be caught late on his first day of work. Mister Gabriel, however, was not in the room. Only Beelzebub and a man were there talking together, sited at the long wooden table. They both stopped their conversation as he entered and turned to him with a scrutinizing look.

“Good morning,” the tutor announced cheerfully, trying his best to ignore their staring which was, to be quite honest, rather rude.  
“Good morning Mister Fell. This is Hastur.”

Beelzebub’s voice had a neutral and tired tone. They had made the quick decision of completely ignoring the outfit the tutor was wearing – which was still distinctively in shades of white and light brown, and still perfectly outdated. Unconceivable. Aziraphale turned to Hastur with a little smile and a firm nod. The man had particularly dirty clothes and a particularly dirty face, and his expression was not welcoming in the slightest. Not threatening either, just not friendly. That did not start on the best footing, it seemed. Aziraphale was trying not to judge – and completely failing at it – but the long coat had mud caked on its lower part and his fingerless gloves had obviously seen better days. He was probably doing some heavy and manual labour, then, and was likely often outside by the look of it. He did not need fancy clothes for such occupation, he assumed, yet at least cleaning up as one entered a kitchen was not too much to ask, perhaps.  
Beelzebub completed their previous announcement, their gaze going from one to the other slowly, as if watching two animals ready to pounce – and maybe it was not too far from the truth as far as Hastur was concerned. The man could be rather feral at times. He had, after all, literally been raised in a barn. But Mister Aziraphale did not look the type to partake in a brawl, on the other hand. At least not a physical one.

“Hastur takes care of the Master’s horses.”  
“Oh, well, that sounds interesting,” he was not, as a matter of fact, particularly interested in horses, but he felt he should make a comment of some sort, “Good morning, Mister Hastur.”  
“Morning.”

And that was the only grumpy acknowledgement that came out of Hastur’s mouth. This was not much of a welcome. Aziraphale’s smile froze slightly for a moment, his eyebrows frowning. Well, he supposed he had not come here to make new friends and so he took a deep breath and his smile came back up. Besides, there was breakfast! He strolled to the table, but not too close to the duo, and sat down with a happy sigh. Breakfast was a particularly important meal, he believed. Well, he believed every meal was important – not to mention afternoon tea or elevenses – but breakfast was the start of a new day and, as he believed, contributed significantly to setting the mood for it. He was therefore always eager to partake in it. He poured himself a nice cup of tea and pondered on what to eat first. There were obviously eggs and bacon, but also toasts. He liked all three of these things. His fingers wiggled a bit as he contemplated his options. All right, maybe toasts first. He filled his plate with them and proceeded to butter them. Oh sweet delicious goodness. He felt his mouth water at the prospect.  
But of course, bad things always happened to good people, and the door of the kitchen opened at the exact same time he was about to take a bite into his toast. Mister Gabriel entered the room, prime and proper and not a single hair out of place, his square face severe as any majordomo should. He only cracked a cold and impersonal smile as he saw Aziraphale.

“Good morning, Mister Fell. Are you ready to meet your charge?”

Aziraphale looked down at his toast sadly.

“I was just starting my breakfast, if you must know. Need the energy for the day.”  
“Nonsense! Sitting down for a meal is such a waste of time. Just grab a bite to go. So many things you could be doing instead.”  
“But I-”

Gabriel shushed him and made a gesture for him to follow. He put the toast down on his plate, broken-hearted, and glanced towards Beelzebub and Hastur. He could have sworn he saw them smirking at the scene. Well, that was just rude. But Gabriel did say to grab his breakfast to go, though, right?  
He took the plate with him as he stood up and followed Gabriel as requested. He had no other choices than to do so. As the man had made perfectly clear the previous evening, he was technically his superior. Aziraphale did not have to like that, but he could not afford to be explicitly disobedient. He just had to hope he would be able to sneak out and grab a bite of something later. They went through the same corridor as with Beelzebub and emerged into the hall. This time, though, they did not go for the stairs, but turned right instead into another corridor. They did not have to go far, on the other hand, but soon reached a dark door on which Gabriel knocked energetically.

“Come in,” came a feminine voice, and they entered.

It was a room of considerable proportions, with the light of the morning shining through the high windows and creating a warm and serene atmosphere. This was the first thing Aziraphale noticed. The second thing he noticed were the immense bookshelves that took up most of the space. Oh, so this was indeed the library. Gabriel had said the previous evening that he would show it to him, if he recalled correctly. This made him feel a bit better about leaving the kitchen earlier than he had planned. Well, only a bit, and only because of the comforting presence of the plate in his hand.  
He looked around with a dreamy expression on his face. The bookshelves covered the whole height of the room and, as he glanced up, he realised the library had a second level, corresponding to the second floor. Double the space of bookshelves. And from his position, he could see a few old but remarkably preserved editions. This was pure bliss. Aziraphale was however dragged from his reverie by the voice of Gabriel resonating in the room. Ah, yes, he was not here for personal enjoyment, indeed.

“Good morning Michaela. This is the tutor.”  
“Good morning, Gabriel,” the same feminine voice told the majordomo.

He would have time to explore the beautiful collection later. Until then, he turned from the shelves to look at the people in the room. First, there was the woman whose voice they had heard through the door. She had sharp features and dark hair in a bun. Her clothes were simple and grey. She was sitting at a table, obviously going through some papers, and watching the duo who had entered with an intent expression. Next to her was a small boy sitting on the soft red carpet. He was pale, with dark hair and eyes and probably no older than six years old. Gabriel addressed him next.

“Master Warlock, this is Mister Fell, your new tutor.”

Aziraphale tried a warm smile, but the child was looking at him and then to Gabriel with uncertainty, clutching his wooden toy for reassurance. Well, Aziraphale thought, children were like that sometimes, they needed a moment to accommodate. He had some experience in the profession and knew to give space to his new charges. He made an effort to sound cheerful and non-threatening as he addressed the boy.

“Master Warlock! I am happy to meet your acquaintance. I am sure we shall have the best of times.”

No answer, as he had expected. He hoped that would come eventually, though. It was difficult to teach anything to someone who did not talk back to you. You never could tell when you needed to explain better or when further description was not needed anymore. In the meantime, they would need to learn about one another. He would need to get the boy to trust him. He had to think carefully about that. Gabriel did not seem to mind, on the other hand. He turned to Aziraphale with his usual oddly neutral smile and extended his arms on his sides in a half shrug movement.

“Well, that is settled then! I will leave you to it.”

With this last comment and no further glance to anyone, he left the room, leaving Aziraphale facing the woman and the child and not knowing what to do with his own limbs. Not knowing what to say either, come to think of it. Luckily, Michaela put him out of his misery relatively quickly, having subjected him to her inquisitive stare and being, apparently, satisfied enough with what she saw in him. She seemed to be the only person he had met so far who did not look at his clothes with either disgust or contempt, which was a nice change.

“So, Mister Fell. I am Michaela, the nanny,” she explained, “seeing your excellent resume and recommendations, I trust you’ll know what to do with young Master Warlock here?”  
“I believe so, Madam.”  
“Good. Then I will let the two of you become acquainted.”

She stood up, gathering her papers and crossing the room without a single glance at the child. She paused briefly to shake Aziraphale’s hand – she had a firm handshake – before exiting the room as Gabriel had. And now, he really was alone with the boy – who was still looking at him with a relatively anxious expression. He still had his plate in hand, too, he realised. Sighing, he decided to cross the space and go sit at the table that Michaela had left. The boy rearranged his position to keep staring at him, but Aziraphale decided not to mind that now. He simply stared back at him, smiling as he started eating his toasts. He began talking in-between bites of food, hoping to make some point of connection, or to at least break the awkward silence which was bound to settle otherwise.

“You see, Master Warlock, breakfast is a very important part of one’s day. You should not skip it, or else you do not have the energy to do all of the important things you need to do… such as reading books, or play with your toys, or walk around the garden.”

He was fully aware of the fact that he was babbling, but he was trying to make himself as inoffensive and friendly as he could to make the kid more comfortable. It was absolutely on purpose. It seemed to be working, by all means, seeing as Warlock had abandoned the toy and was slowly making his way on his knees towards him. The boy was still staring at him with wide eyes, but his expression had shifted from wariness to curiosity.

“I wonder what we should start with… perhaps some drawing? Would you like that? Or maybe you would like to start learning how to reading? Hmm… perhaps a bit early for that but we’ll see. Books are full of wonder, you know. Is there something you like a lot?”

He did not really expect an answer, in all fairness, so when a little voice rose, it almost startled him. It was quiet and, had he not been paying attention, he might not have heard it at all.

“I like flowers… and birds too.”  
“Well, that sounds really nice. Do you want to look at pictures? I am sure we could find a book with illustrations.”

He smiled even brighter, encouraging Warlock to talk. The boy seemed to think the question over, with the serious look on his face that children have sometimes when thinking intently. His nose twisted a bit then, as if reflecting on something distasteful.

“I don’t know Mister Fell. I already look at a lot of pictures. I stay inside a lot.”  
“Well then, Master Warlock, what do you think about going for a walk around the garden?”

The little boy’s face lit up instantly and he nodded vigorously. Maybe they would get along better than Aziraphale had originally feared, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Here is a new chapter. The two idiots will be meeting soon, don't worry. But I'm keeping the chapters short so I can post with some regularity, and I do need to install a few things about the settings first, right?  
> Anyway, don't hesitate to come say hi, either here or on tumblr. I don't bite.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley opened his eyes on the next morning significantly later than what he probably should have. The morning light filtered through the window of the bedroom and he sighed heavily, turning around to rest on his side and not in the slightest ready to get up and start the day. He had a deep passion for sleeping, to be fair. Oh, to be able to stay in bed all day, doing nothing productive. Perhaps not even sleeping, just staying there and existing. And yet, getting up he must, and he did. He had been hired to tend to the garden and he had to justify his wages, or at least pretending he was doing enough to not be fired on the spot. What a life.  
In spite of all his best efforts to be up and about, however, he was still regretting his bed an hour later as he was fumbling through the tools in the actual shed adjacent to the Shed. Oh, that name was going to give him a headache, he could feel it. He gathered his work instruments and set on his way to tend to the garden, whistling through his teeth while doing so.

Soon, he was wrestling with a rose bush, their odour sweet and ancient tickling his nose and the lovely pink hues pleasing to his eyes. Which, of course, did not distract him from the very obvious fact that nobody had seen fit to affix them to the iron structure that was meant to support them. The flowers were heading in all directions, without any sense whatsoever, and he was doing his best to put some order into them. It took him a long while before he was satisfied of his work. He took two steps back, admiring the result of his efforts.

“Here you go! Now grow, you bastards!”

He had read in one of the many papers which aimed at presenting scientific findings that talking to plants helped them grow faster. He had found the idea fascinating. Unfortunately, he might have devised his own particular vision of the exercise. Well, if the shoe fitted… an if the roses grew. Lost in his thoughts as he was, he almost jumped in surprise when a hand grabbed his coat. He turned around, looking left and right without seeing anything, then looked down to meet two big eyes.

Oh, well. That was unexpected.

-

Aziraphale and young Warlock had been walking down the gravel path in the garden, among the shrubbery and bushes of flowers, the former pointing at birds and butterflies and plants with a serious air, naming them and commenting on their attributes. The little boy had been following him, looking about him with an expression of curiosity and wonder. For a small child who was not allowed outside a lot, mostly due to his caretakers not having the time – or not wanting to make the time – to take him into the garden, this was a formidable experience. Everything was so new and beautiful, and full of mysterious delight. He had been very attentive to what his tutor was telling him, at first.

All in all, Aziraphale thought, everything was going splendidly. To think that he had thought the task would be difficult not even an hour ago. Things had ended up going perfectly well, after all. Ah, but he was a professional after all, he was more than able to take care of a single child put in his care. Many years of experience and dedication to his craft, thank you very much. And, with that satisfied thought in mind, he turned around to show Warlock a particularly fascinating specimen of tall beech which was likely old.  
Unfortunately, this is the moment he realised he was completely alone on the path.

“Oh, for the love of Christ!”

A vague feeling of annoyance, mixed with a rising dread, slowly filled his mind. He had not looked away for more than a minute and the kid was all but gone. What was he going to do now? Where to look first? He did not know and he felt panic rising like bile in his throat. Fidgeting and nervous as a possum about to pretend to be dead, he made his way back on the path in the hopes of finding the place where their steps had diverged. This was no easy thing to do, Aziraphale not being an outdoorsy sort of person and generally having very little skills at tracking down animals or people in the wild – if the garden could be compared to the wilderness, that is, which in his mind was the case.  
Luckily for him he did not have to search for a long time. A few feet from him, voices could be heard already, coming from behind a line of plants, and one of these voices was the one he was hoping to hear.

“Do you think there is fairies in the garden, Mister Crowley?”  
“Why, I don’t see why not. But you have to look very hard I reckon. They’re quite hard to see, you know.”

Bless the heavens, the child had not wandered too far. Aziraphale turned around a bush and found the boy in conversation with a man. He assumed the voice he had heard answering the child was his, nobody else being around. Yes, a brilliant deduction. But the tutor was more preoccupied with making sure the child was fine and he barely noticed the man at first. The little boy’s face lit up as he saw Aziraphale walk towards them.

“Mister Fell!”  
“Master Warlock, you should not run away without telling me.”  
“Oh. Sorry Mister Fell. I saw a butterfly and it was so pretty.”  
“Of course, of course. But please let me know if you want to go see something. I was really afraid for a moment.”  
“All right.”  
“Oh, it’s fine. He was just there with me,” the man said with a smirk, “no harm done.”

Aziraphale turned around to properly beheld him. A tall and slim man, all dressed in black, with flaming ginger hair and… sunglasses? The tutor looked up at the sky. The weather did not seem sunny enough to warrant such a contraption, but perhaps the man had sensitive eyes. Who was he to judge? Especially him and his unusual style of clothing. Oh, he was perfectly aware it was not usual, he was not stupid. He just loved the style. It suited him, he thought. If people did not approve, well, that was on them.

“Yes, it turned out to be fine, indeed. This time. But he could have fell or hurt himself, or worse. It is not about what is, but about what could have been, you see, Mister…?”  
“Crowley. What exactly do you think could happen in the castle’s garden?”  
“So many things! Gardens can present many threats.”  
“Right. Bookworm, I imagine, Mister…?”  
“Fell. I do like books, I will admit freely, but I fail to see how that’s relevant.”  
“Well, I guess you do not spend much time outside. Anyway, little children need fresh air and adventure, Mister Fell. You cannot lock them up inside all day or keep watch over them all the time. They need to grow and learn.”

Aziraphale gave a side glance towards Warlock, who was busy smelling the roses. Maybe Mister Crowley was right after all. Maybe he was being alarmed for no reason. Maybe Warlock needed to be given some space to learn. Heavens if he knew.

“I mean, I’m not saying let him fend for himself in the wild, of course,” the man shrugged, “just… give him some space. He’ll thank you for that.”  
“Right. Maybe we can try that. By all mean, I have promised him we would have a walk in the gardens this morning and I will not betray this promise.”

Aziraphale shook his head as if to chase away his thoughts. He realised he was diverting Crowley’s time and attention and probably being a nuisance. He was suddenly feeling a bit out of place and shifted on his feet.

“Oh, but I do not want to keep you from your work, Mister Crowley.”  
“It’s no problem, really. I imagine… you could always… stay around me while I work. To observe the plants and insects, I mean.”

For all that he dreamt himself to be smooth and charming, Mister Crowley was in fact a rather awkward specimen sometimes. He was also feeling a bit lonely today. Beelzebub’s welcome party had not really been warm and meeting someone who was not looking at him like some sort of nuisance was a pleasant change.

“Well, I do not see why not. Lead the way, Mister Crowley.”

If Crowley had an added spring in his step as he sauntered away, followed by the tutor and the little boy, well, nobody needed to know but him.

 

An hour or two later, Aziraphale was still around. He had ended up sitting in a bench and conversing lightly with the gardener, who was busy tending to the hydrangeas. Warlock was lying on his stomach on the grass, observing a line of ants carrying twigs and leaves back to their home. The tutor had proved to be rather chatty. Not that Crowley minded. It was interesting, having a presence around him taking the responsibility for doing the talking and not necessarily expecting him to reciprocate to the same extent.

“This is quite annoying, too. He didn’t even let me finish my breakfast this morning.”  
“That’s not very nice.”  
“Isn’t it? Well, I took my plate with me to finish it anyway, but I feel this was not very polite of him in the first place.”

Crowley smiled at the thought of the fussy blond man carrying his plate of breakfast around as if his life depended on it. Crowley had never really been into food. He supposed it was important for survival, but his appreciation for it stopped there. It was convenient, nothing more. But the enthusiasm Mister Fell seemed to demonstrate for it was endearing, he had to admit. What an interesting man, really, so lively and charming. He quickly put an end to this particular line of thoughts, however. Better not to engage down that path and mind his own business. The tutor was still conversing lightly about this and that behind him for a while, and he made an effort to supply with some remarks of his own.  
But all good things had to come to an end, eventually, and he saw the tutor stir up and stretch at one point.

“I must admit this has been very nice.”  
“Well, morning is always an interesting time in a garden.”  
“Yes, and I am afraid it will rain again soon, as a matter of fact,” the blonde man mused, “so we had better take the opportunity while it lasted.”

The clouds were indeed looking threatening. They both took a moment to observe the sky, young Warlock joining them and mirroring their solemn expressions.

“Anyway, we should get back inside. We still need to do some learning before noon, and I do not know when they eat their lunch here.”  
“No idea either.”  
“It was nice meeting your acquaintance, Mister Crowley. I do hope we might see each other around again.”  
“I… likewise. I am staying in the little house further in the garden, should you wish to say good morning one day.”

He did not know what had possessed him to extend such an invitation. They had met only a few hours ago and maybe this was quick to make friends. Yet he found the tutor easy to be around, for some reason, and he would be damned if he let the opportunity go. He did not mind being alone rather than being ill-accompanied, but he did wish for some company on occasions. Fortunately for him, Aziraphale did not seem to mind the invitation at all, nor think it too forward. He positively beamed instead, apparently happy about the promise of friendship.

“I may well take you up on your offer. Who knows? Good day to you. Master Warlock, bid good day to Mister Crowley.”  
“Good day sir!”

They shook hands then, and the tutor and his charge went their separate way towards the House. Crowley was left to his own device, following the duo until they turned on the path and he could not see them anymore. Who knows, indeed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me slightly longer than expected because I had some University work to do and my advisor to meet. I also wanted to write more of the other fics I am doing before the ideas escaped x)  
> But here it is now, and our two friends have met at last. Poor Crowley, he is already smitten. I decided to go with the common fanon that in the show, Crowley falls in love with Zira as soon as the garden of Eden. Hope it does not seem weird?  
> Anyway, hope you appreciate this chapter. I'll start the next very soon. I have ideasTM for them.


	4. Chapter 4

Mister Aziraphale thought of the gardener’s invitation on several occasions during the day, trying to make sense of it. Out of all the people he had met so far in the Big House and its extensions, Mister Anthony J. Crowley had been the only person who seemed welcoming and polite in any shape or form. It appeared that, in spite of his best effort to make himself agreeable, the tutor could not get any amenable conversation with anyone around him. He had been ready to write it off as everybody being busy and set into their habits, but something in him felt that they were just not interested in being friendly at all. He, on the other hand, was quite willing to have some semblance of companionship and felt sorry that nobody was similarly inclined.

Nobody except that Mister Crowley, that is. The gardener had even invited him to come meet him at his place in the park, which was indeed very nice of him. The tutor thus debated taking him up on his offer, not wanting to intrude but not wanting to be rude either. Perhaps it had only been politeness on the man’s part? But he had dismissed this doubt quickly. He would not have proposed it if he had not meant it. There were many ways to seem polite enough without actually promising anything to anyone, especially not offering to visit. Aziraphale was aware of the fact as someone who had mastered the art of being elusive when he wanted not to be disturbed.

 

The conclusion of his questioning and worries had thus conducted him to cross the garden in the late hours of the afternoon, careful to walk on the path and not actually thread on the lawn. He would not want to make Mister Crowley’s job more difficult. Of course, he could not know that Mister Crowley himself could not care less about the state of the lawn being disturbed. He was therefore making his merry way towards the little thicket where he needed to go. The gardener’s little house soon appeared between the trees.

He wondered briefly if the man was already at home or if he was still working. He himself had handed back his young charge to Michaela, the nanny, after their day of scholarly work. But he had no idea when a gardener’s work day ended and he wondered now if maybe he would be indeed intruding. His worries disappeared however when the front door of the house opened and Mister Crowley walked through it in his direction, a grin on his face and a welcoming hand extended.

The anxiety that had been rising and subsiding alternatively during the day in the tutor’s mind as he had tried to make up his mind as to the intentions of the gardener disappeared immediately as the tall but weirdly elegant man was approaching. No, indeed, Mister Crowley had meant his invitation and seemed genuinely happy to see him. What a relief it was!

 

-

 

Anthony Crowley had spent the rest of his day thinking about the encounter and he was in an agony of doubt. His work being overall solitary, and somewhat repetitive, he did not have the luxury of having his thought diverted and channelled into another activity such as caring for the education of a young child. He therefore had plenty of time to think about the interaction… and to have a mild panic attack about it.

How desperate he must have looked, inviting someone he had met only a couple hours before to come visit him. He was not even that desperate for company, to tell the truth… well, not really. He was used to keeping to himself most of the time. The life he had been living had made him so. No other choice. But the tutor was jovial, and kind, and something inside Crowley had ached. He had been aware that he could be considered a lonely person, but he had pushed the feeling aside for a long time, telling himself that nobody could ever be so kind and accepting of him, so why bother mingling? Now, however, he wasn’t so sure about this. There was something about Mister Fell… something light and delicate and pure, like a feather fluttering in the wind.

 

He had tried to busy himself with his work as much as he could, though that was not, as mentioned earlier, very successful. And, as the end of the afternoon came and he finally put his work tools down in their designated space, he could not even claim to have any sort of distraction, as small as it had been. He debated starting a fire to put some water to boil for tea. That would make him feel a bit better, probably, but he did not want to start fires mindlessly. He did not know how much wood he was allowed to use, and he feared the weather would only go worse from there. Not that winter and its harsh cold weather usually bothered him, anyway, but he had to be careful. He needed the place and he could not afford – figuratively but also literally – to lose it over a petty reason such as using too much wood. He had seen pettier excuses being used by employers before.

 

As he was contemplating the idea of making tea and thinking that maybe, considering his long day full of new beginnings and anxiety, he could justify the fire, he was standing in front of the kitchen’s window. And he was standing there, arms crossed nervously on his chest, just in time to see a figure advancing between the trees towards the house. A figure dressed in light colours whose outdated sense of fashion was easy to recognise. Feeling a grin forming on his face, he hurried out the front door to greet Mister Fell.

He could not actually believe that the tutor would respond favourably to the invitation and come. He simply could not have come. And yet...

 

-

 

They met under the foliage of a great birch tree. Crowley was almost as slender as it and Mister Fell almost as white. They shook hands under its serene patronage and exchanged greetings.

 

“Good afternoon, Mister Fell!”

“Good afternoon! How was your day?”

 

The ginger-haired man glanced up at the sky, thoughtful. He was certainly not going to talk about his doubts and anxiety regarding his offer… that the tutor had decided to honour anyway, so why would he be harping on that. He decided to be witty instead, hoping to hide his nervousness.

 

“Damp, mostly. But not too bad overall.”

“Ah. Well, that is good, I suppose.”

“How was yours?”

“Well, uneventful. Master Warlock is a good boy.”

“Good, good,” the gardener nodded, “Hm… would you like to come inside? I was going to make some tea for myself, if you would like some.”

 

Mister Fell averted his gaze shyly. His cheeks were a shade more pink and Crowley did not know what to make of it. Was it too forward of him? Had the tutor expected to stay on the threshold for the whole entrevue?

 

“If there is tea, I would be very glad to have some, thank you. I did not have much time for any.”

“Then follow me inside, good sir.”

 

He designated the front door with a hand and did an exaggerated little bow. The tutor’s face became illuminated with a smile of his own. And what a beautiful and blinding smile it was. You could light up a whole opera house with a smile like this one, Crowley reckoned. He obviously did not mention this thought at loud, but simply cleared his throat as he followed the light-haired man inside.

 

 

They settled in the little house’s sitting room and Crowley lit a fire for them in the grey-stoned fireplace. He then went to the kitchen to get some water for the tea and Aziraphale was left alone in the room for a minute. He used the opportunity to examine his surroundings with the look of someone who has their own peculiar tastes in decoration and does not settle for anything less than what they think is acceptable. He had standards, after all, if his unusual choice of clothing was any indication.

The sitting room looked like any other sitting room in any other small countryside cottage. It was small and dimly lit, and the smell told him that the house had remained closed for a relatively long time – long enough to smell damp, anyway. The furniture was old, mismatched, and frankly outdated. It was a mess of patterns that clashed and colours who had faded away. He frowned. He hoped Mister Crowley would do something about the situation. Not that he had any opinion to have on other people’s domesticity, but surely no self-respecting being deserved the headache that this room was bound to provoke.

 

Mister Crowley came back and put the brass kettle on the fire, turning back towards the tutor and catching his observant look.

 

“Oh, yes, the place looks horrid. I am not sure what I can do about it. The idea of taking everything out in front of the house and light up a great fire has crossed my mind.”

“You do not have to go this far, but I understand the sentiment,” Aziraphale laughed, “well, if you ever need to change anything, I would be happy to help.”

“Ah. Very kind of you, Mister Fell.”

 

Mister Crowley turned away to check the water, but it seemed to the tutor that he was mostly embarrassed. Perhaps he did not like the idea of Aziraphale giving his opinion on his decoration, or potential decoration anyway.

 

“But I mean, I would not want to impose, Mister Crowley, really,” he blushed, “It is just, you know, simply a friendly helping hand.”

 

The gardener turned around so quickly that Aziraphale feared that he would actually snap his neck. The tutor could not see his eyes through the dark glasses, but from the arch of his eyebrows, he was obviously surprised. Oh. He had made it worse by trying to explain himself, hadn’t he? He was now wringing his hands, which had been folded on his lap until then. And Mister Crowley was still looking at him through his glasses for a moment, silent at first. Then, when he finally spoke, his voice was hesitant.

 

“Well I could certainly do with a friendly helping hand, if you are so inclined.”

“Ah. Good,” Aziraphale sighed in relief, “well, you know where I am when you do need me.”

 

The crisis had been averted and he released some of the tension in his body, but only a small portion of it. He was sitting upright on the sofa, looking at the gardener out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be focusing at the fire. He was still feeling on edge, a tad afraid of saying another wrong thing – or a thing that was not what Mister Crowley expected, anyway, which might even be worse. He did not deal well with the idea of disappointing someone as a general rule. He much preferred people not liking him on account of him being weird, or too scholarly, or not up to the latest fashion. At least he could pretend that they were just prejudiced and that it had nothing to do with him.

Later, as Mister Crowley went to retrieve the tea pot and cups from the kitchen, Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. Why did he have to be so awkward? Well, there was no helping it, now. But Mister Crowley seemed to be forgiving, at least.

 

As he was contemplating this, he heard a noise coming from the kitchen. The sound of porcelain falling on the ground and shattering. He jumped to his feet, calling to the other room.

 

“Everything alright, Mister Crowley? Do you need some help?”

 

He was answered by a groan, at first. It was something strange, not the kind of sound he had been expecting. He did not quite know what to make of it, and so he asked Mister Crowley again.

 

“Is there anything I can do?”

“I… I have to ask you to leave, Mister Fell,” the voice was almost a grunt, as if coming from someone in pain, “Now.”

“Have you hurt yourself? Do you need anything?”

“No! Just leave please.”

 

So he had said something wrong, after all? Was that what was happening? Mister Crowley did not wish to interact with him anymore and was asking him to leave his presence. Wriggling his hands again, he took a deep breath and started exposing his case.

 

“I am really sorry if I said something that offended you, Mister Crowley. I assure you it was not my intention. Only, you very kindly invited me into your abode, and I simply wished to repay the kindness by extending a good deed of my own. Now, I understand if you do not wish-”

“Mister Fell, please,” the gardener’s voice was more pressing, pleading even, “I am not offended but I must beg you to leave this house and go back to the Manor as fast as you can.”

 

The voice really sounded in pain and it diverted Aziraphale from his own situation. At that point, he was starting to make his way towards the kitchen, adamant on knowing the full extent of the situation. Mister Crowley was acting in a most queer fashion, and he had to understand what was going on.

 

“Now, I must insist to know why? You sound hurt, and really, I would like to know if I can be of assistance!”

 

He did not say more. As he reached the door to the kitchen, and upon seeing it open, he had entered the room, only to find the gardener on his hands and knees on the floor, panting heavily and his body shaking. His glasses had fallen to the ground, and when he lifted up his gaze to meet the tutor’s his eyes were a bright gold colour. What more, his hands and face, the only visible parts of his anatomy were covered in some sort of fur, dark and thick, and his nails looked significantly longer than he remembered. The gardener’s eyes were pleading, probably begging him to go as he had asked him. But Aziraphale was certainly not going to leave him to his own painful devices. Still transfixed at the door, the tutor could only mutter sadly.

 

“Oh, Mister Crowley!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I am really sorry it took a bit longer than a month to complete. I wanted to update a few other fics and I also had literary theory and sociology to read on for my Master Dissertation. Long story short, I got a bit sidetracked.   
> But here it is now, and things are moving forward... with something a bit different to get you going! Raise your hands those who thought it was only going to be a perfectly normal historical!AU... Hopefully the tags make more sense, now.  
> Anyway, I hope you like the turn it's taking. I won't blame you if you decide to stop reading there, but I really wanted to do something of the sort for a while, eheheh. For those of you who wish to keep reading, welcome on board. Now might be a good time to mention that I study Gothic literature for a living, right?


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh, Mister Crowley!”

 

What struck Crowley in spite of the waves of pain and worry washing through his body at that moment was that Mister Fell’s voice contained no trace of fright nor alarm whatsoever, nor even a hint of surprise. There simply was a smidge of sadness in his voice, and perhaps some sort of pity? Overall, he seemed oddly calm as he was faced with what should have been, by all accounts, one of the most incredible and terrifying things a person could ever witness in their life. The gardener would not have imagined that a tutor – bookish, well-mannered and definitively soft middle-aged man that he was – could remain so composed in such a situation. He had no idea what exactly was prompting this singularly neutral reaction… obliviousness, stupidity, or in fact immense bravery? Whatever the explanation might be, Crowley was quickly losing the ability to mind, as the beast was growing restless, angry, and famished inside his mind. He could only pant heavily, even laying on the floor in the end, his body twisting in convulsions and aching.

To make the whole matter even more puzzling, Mister Fell actually smiled in what was a seemingly cheerful and soft expression, and shook his head slowly at him, in the manner of a parent who has to clean up your mess but is not angry about it, simply pragmatical.

 

“All right, dear, let’s make sure nothing too bad happens, shall we?”

 

The tutor exited the kitchen after uttering these confusing words – which sounded vaguely reassuring in tone, for some inexplicable reason. Crowley could faintly hear the sound of the key turning in the front door, locking them both inside. He then listened to the steps of the fair-haired man on the tiled floor, who wandered briefly into the sitting room that he had previously left, even ascending the stairs to walk around the first floor. The gardener was only half aware of this happening, however. The transformation he was going through had a firm grip onto his remaining consciousness. The cracking and elongation of bones, the growing of fangs and claws, the spreading of fur. There was too much to handle for him to really think about anything else. Moreover, he was acutely aware of what was going to happen next. It was only a matter of seconds now for him to lose complete control over the situation and over the thing inside of him. Already, he could hear Mister Fell coming back downstairs. He wanted to scream, to tell him one last time to run away and not stay anywhere near him. But no human sound could come out of his mouth, only grunts and growls and, finally, a long plaintive howl. It was unleashed. There was no escaping now.

 

The last though on his mind as the last remaining part of his consciousness lost the fight to the monster was alarm. What was going to happen to Mister Fell now, left alone with the wolf inside him?

 

-

 

To his surprise, when he woke up, trembling and cold, he was laying on his bed. He had no idea how he had ended up there, but there was no mistaking the softness under his weary body. Even before opening his eyes, he could already tell he was on a bed, by all means, and that it must be his. The wolf rarely did climb up the stairs obediently to go sleep the full moon night off. He had tried a few things to tame the wolf into a gentler dog, of course, but to no avail. There was simply no domesticating the beast. He was therefore singularly confused by the situation he was now in. He moved his sore limbs around a bit. Well, the thought occurred to him that the wolf would not have drawn the covers over its own body either.

He finally opened his eyes. He recognised the ceiling and the walls, the ugly little painting of a landscape with cattle and a farmhouse, and the heavy curtains who could do with a bit of dusting – or with being replaced altogether. It was indeed the bedroom in the small cottage that was now his residence. At least, he was not naked somewhere in the park of the Mansion. He was naked, though, that one was for certain, but he was inside the house. Now he had to hope that he had staid inside during the night as well, and that no creature nor human had been hurt in the tiresome monthly process. That was all he could afford, really… hope.

 

He managed to extract himself from his bed, at long last, through small gradual steps, and got dressed in some undergarments – essentially soft cotton pantaloons and a long chemise which were surprisingly as black as the rest of his clothes. The pantaloons stopped mid calves and had a series of three small buttons to fasten it. It was adorned with a small line on the sides, some sort of embroidered golden pattern that snaked its way downwards. The chemise was relatively loose and hung freely around him, making him look less bony than he actually was. It had the initials of its owner on the breast, in a similar golden thread; A. J. C. On top of this accoutrement came a robe of a beautiful green jade colour with a white and light pink floral pattern. It was one of the rare articles of clothing he had in his possession that wasn’t black or dark browns. Interestingly, it was the one article of clothing that was exclusively worn inside.

He descended the stairs slowly, limping due to the ache in his bones and muscles, and entered the kitchen. The light coming from the window told him that the afternoon was already well advanced. He had slept for the most part of the day, then. He was usually awoken by something – or more rarely someone – when he transformed back outside. But in the safety of his own lodging, nothing had made him stir, affording him his much-needed rest. He however felt a deep hunger inside of him, which meant that he had not eaten during the night. Small mercies. He had once woken up amidst the remnants of a stag’s body, satiated but nauseous at the sight of the torn asunder animal. That had not been a good morning.

 

There was a plate on the kitchen table, with another one on top of it to cover it up, and a sheet of paper was stuck under it. The handwriting was not familiar to him as he started reading the few hastily written lines.

 

 

_Dear Mister Crowley,_

_You turned back into your normal self as the first rays of the sun were appearing and you seemed passably tired. Not knowing when you would wake up, I therefore took the liberty of tucking you into your bed and prepare some food for you, should you be hungry upon waking up._

_I should mention that nobody was hurt during the night, under my careful vigilance and despite your best efforts at breaking out of the house. I will come to check on you tonight, after Master Warlock is handed to his nanny._

_Hoping this finds you as well as you can be given the circumstances._

_Yours truly,_ _A. Z. Fell._

 

 

Well, that certainly was something new. Crowley had to read the words again three times to make sure he understood correctly. Mister Fell had taken care of him during the night, then? Not only did he not seem unfazed by the whole ordeal, it actually looked as if he also knew what to do in the situation. He had no idea what to make of this knowledge. He sat at the table, taking the top plate away. A series of sandwiches greeted him and his growling stomach. He rarely was hungry, as a matter of fact. He did not need to eat during the month, and then the full moon rose and he was famished. He polished off the plate in a matter of minutes, feeling revived but still somewhat hungry. It was better, though, ways better, than earlier. Bless the man and his considerate actions.

Which really did not clear the mysteries of why the tutor had reacted the way he did. Even more so, how the hell had he managed to stay locked within a house with a wild and hungry wolf without any trouble? How had he even been able to survive the night? He should have been shredded into pieces, by all mean. There had been bigger, more deadly animals that the wolf had attacked and killed during one of the many moons this had happened. A mild-mannered chubby little man could not possibly had survived this. And yet…

Crowley’s golden eyes – the real reason why he always wore glasses, in reality, though ‘sensitive eyes’ were a good enough cover-up that satisfied most people – blinked a few times, perplexed. Mister Fell had said in his note that he would come to visit him, right? The redhead read the paper one more time, for confirmation. It meant that he would have his explanation sooner than later, if he was correct in assuming the time of day – he placed it at around 5PM currently.

Having finished the food so kindly prepared by Mister Fell, he decided that some tea was in order. They had not been able to drink any, the previous day, after all. He saw that Mister Fell had tidied up the broken cup he had let fall during his transformation, but that he had also taken the kettle from the fire, which he had snuffed. The wood was still in the fireplace, ready to be rekindled. Crowley did just that, and put the kettle on once more. Tonight, they would be able to enjoy the beverage without interruption, hopefully. He had been foolish to forget the full moon, the night before. But now, it was out of the way.

 

The sound of knocking on the door dragged him away from his thoughts. His first impulse was to recoil and growl, but he shook his head, thinking. That probably was Mister Fell. No need to be aggressive. He would have an answer to the mystery, he hoped, and perhaps some explaining to do himself. Turning into a wolf at sunset was not exactly the sort of things you could get away with without providing some clarification. He turned around and went to open the front door, revealing the plump silhouette of the tutor.

 

“Come in!”

 

-

 

Aziraphale’s stay at Ravenstonedale had not been eventful at first. He had discovered the house and its inhabitants, his young charge, and the functions he was to fulfil. It was new, without a doubt, but nothing disturbing nor unexpected had appeared in his field of vision. All in all, everything had seemed perfectly normal. And wasn’t that a nice change of pace from what he had experienced before? Thinking back on it retrospectively, he should have known that something strange was bound to emerge at one point. It was too good to be true. Though, to be quite fair, he had expected that strange thing to be provoked by his own arrival. He was not entirely sure what to do with the situation now.

Or maybe he did know. Whatever it was that affected Mister Crowley, it seems much more violent and dangerous than his own situation. He had felt on the previous night that it was his duty to protect the gardener and the other inhabitants of the Manor from the creature that he had morphed into. This sense of duty and impulse to protect had not left him since, even as the growling beast had changed back into the exhausted and weak gardener. As he had half carried half dragged Mister Crowley to his bed, freed him from the remnants of his shredded clothes, and watched him sleep for a couple minutes, he had formed the decision to help the man in any way he could.

 

After all, he thought as he emerged from between the trees and marched to the front door of Mister Crowley’s little cottage, strange supernatural entities had to look out for one another, he imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6 days to update? Not bad! This one is more of a filler chapter, in a way, but I've already started planning the next chapter. I'm happy to see that the reveal of last chapter was well received, and I really wanted to thank the people who commented on it.  
> -  
> Also, I've signed up for the upcoming GO big bang. I have some ambitious ideas that I can't talk about, but I'm very excited. It's the first time I'll plan and write a fic entirely before posting it instead of updating as I finish a chapter. It's going to be an interesting change of pace, I think.


	6. Chapter 6

“Please do come in!”

 

There was a soft creaking sound as Crowley opened the door further to allow Mister Fell in, moving aside to give him more room to walk around the hall. His now familiar mass of curly blond hair was almost pink under the setting sun and his clear blue eyes shone brighter, if that was even possible. Mister Fell studied the gardener’s face for a moment, as if he were looking for traces of extra fur, or maybe to check that he really was back to his normal human state in general. Crowley’s face grew a bit redder than was necessary in response to that scrutiny.

 

“Mister Crowley! Glad to see that you are up and about… and apparently well?”

“Aye, well enough anyway. Thanks to you, it would seem, Mister Fell.”

 

The tutor had taken a few steps inside the room hesitantly. He was carrying a basket under his arm and was dressed in his usual cream-coloured and tans, but he seemed uncertain about what to do next. He was just standing there for a few seconds, still staring at the gardener. But as Crowley uttered this final sentence, motioning for him to follow and leading him into the sitting room, Mister Fell was stammering a reply.

 

“Oh, I really did nothing much. Simply made sure you did not wander outside and hurt yourself or others.”

“Regardless, thank you for that!” Crowley turned around to look at the man, following through before he had the chance to reply, “I am in earnest, Mister Fell. You did not have to stay. In fact, you should have left and run away, by all means. Yet you decided to help. It was most generous, and most brave, of you.”

 

The tutor did not reply. He simply turned pink and sat down awkwardly on the sofa, putting his basket aside and folding his hands on his lap as Crowley had seen him do before. He wondered what it was that made Mister Fell look so uncomfortable all the time. There was always something weirdly composed about the man, something that was trying very hard to be appropriate. He was itching to ask him about it, but he felt that there were other, more pressing questions to ask first.

For now, he decided to give the tutor some time to recover from his embarrassment by going to the kitchen and fetch the cups and tea pot stuffed with the precious leaves. This time, he came back without interruption of any supernatural nature. He set the implements down and poured the boiling water into the pot. While it infused, he sat directly in front of Mister Fell, and stared at him.

 

“There is something I would like to know, though,” he asked, and the tutor started and glanced up at him, “why did you stay? And how did you manage to remain unscarred?”

 

Aziraphale sighed. He had been expecting this question and was not surprised in the slightest. He had however hoped that the explanation would be delayed a while longer. Well, there was no avoiding it, now. He pondered on what to say for a moment, the corner of his mouth pointing downwards and a frown on his soft round features.

 

“I suppose it is a fair question. Well, you see…” he interrupted himself, thinking some more, “you could not have hurt me. No one and nothing can anymore.”

 

He caught the gardener’s confused expression. It was not easy to explain on its own, and Aziraphale usually had a problem being concise and to the point. Being a scholar and having read a lot of books, he was more used to taking his time laying down the facts and giving extensive details to give all the context needed for his audience to understand – which had the unpleasant effect that said audience ended up being utterly lost in the narrative and unable to distinguish its tail from its head, most of the time. In this instance, however, he felt that a similar deluge of information simply would not do. He owed Mister Crowley to be specific and straightforward.

 

“Well, Mister Crowley, it is simple. You are not the only supernatural entity in this house… or domain.”

 

Alright, maybe this was a bit too blunt and entirely too vague. He cleared his throat, looked at his hands – which were fidgeting nervously with the hem of his waistcoat without him having noticed – and launched into a broader explanation.

 

“So, hm… A few years ago, I was involved into a carriage accident which coast me my life.”

 

Still not quite specific enough, but an effort toward the truth. He did not need to look up to notice Mister Crowley’s shock. He could hear his gasp and it was enough to tell him that he had produced some effect. Understandable, too. How does one react to such an announcement?

 

“This is no metaphor nor exaggeration, Mister Crowley, I truly died that day. Only… apparently someone or something decided I was not done with the living world. I was sent back on Earth. New name and identity, apparently, and no memory of my ancient life… beside the accident, that is. I have no idea why, but that is the way it is.”

“And how… what?” the gardener croaked after a moment of deafening silence, “I mean, do you know what made you come back? Was it… someone? Something? How?”

“I am not sure, but sometimes I get these feelings, these… pulls?”

 

Absentmindedly, Aziraphale started pouring the tea into their cups, busying himself so his hands would not betray his nervous state.

 

“You know… this feeling that there is something you simply must do, some place you must be? It feels like the most natural thing to do.”

 

Crowley could not claim he knew the feeling, no. He had always lived his life out of the need of survival. The only pull he knew about was staying alive, feeding and sleeping, hiding in the shadows if someone was coming too close. It was a daily struggle kind of feeling, an entirely self-centred and raw need. And that had been the case even before he became… what he was. But he felt that was not what Mister Fell was talking about; this pull, it felt more like some sort of destiny or duty call to him. For Crowley however, there had been no such thing as the right thing to do. He chose not to tell Mister Fell about this. He did not dare interrupt the fidgety man, lest he stopped explaining altogether – and he seemed to need to share this knowledge with someone, something that Crowley could understand. Left uninterrupted, the tutor continued his chain of thought, reaching his conclusion.

 

“So, yes, I imagine there is something or someone that has decided to send me back for a specific reason. Only I have no idea what for. I just follow this… uh… this…”

“Instinct?”

“Yes, I suppose that is the best way to describe it.”

“And did this instinct tell you to apply here?”

“Yes. Funnily enough, it did. I do not know why, but I trust it will manifest itself at one point or another. And you, Mister Crowley… why are you here?”

 

The gardener thought about it for a few seconds. It was his turn to be open and honest.

 

“I heard that Lord Dawling was rarely present, and Lady Dawling as well. They live mostly in London to satisfy to his Parliamentary duties. But they have this huge park in their countryside house that needs tending too, or so I’ve heard, and so I applied, feeling that I would not be asked too much information about myself.”

“Wise.”

“When you are… well, what I am, you have to make sure to stay isolated.”

“It must be a very lonely existence.”

 

Mister Fell likely did not realise that he had hit a nerve. He was sipping on his tea, eyes on the bottom of his cup as if it held the secret meaning of Life or the true name of the Creator. It sounded more like an afterthought that he had whispered for himself and not for Crowley. Yet it hit a place within the ginger man that he had tried to carefully hide from the World and from himself for years. Yes, it was indeed a very lonely existence. The fear of rejection, of being called a monster, of being hunted down or killed by people you yearned to connect with. And imagine you found someone who decided to look past this, to accept you, there was the ever-present fear of hurting them, no matter how hard you tried to contain yourself, to tame the beast. How do you live with yourself, then, with this knowledge in mind? How do you let yourself be comfortable?

 

“Were you always like this?”

 

Crowley snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at the tutor. It was not a malicious question. He seemed to genuinely want to know more without any afterthought.

 

“No. There was something… an event… when I was younger. I was about fourteen, I think. A wolf-like creature bit me. I remember thinking that it was big for a wolf, but well, I had never seen any in the flesh. I am still not sure whether it was a wolf or something else.”

 

He sipped on his tea slowly, staring at the blond man with something akin to wonder in his eyes.

 

“I have never told anyone. Never had anyone to talk to, really, as a matter of fact. Besides, you grow afraid of telling people anyway, after you finally understand how bad the situation is.”

“I can understand. I never told anyone about my condition either. Imagine the stir? A… ghost… a spirit… whatever in Heaven’s name I might be. I am perfectly content living my quiet life… if I can be considered alive, though.”

“That is a good point,” the gardener exclaimed, “you were not afraid to stay around me last night because you cannot be harmed… correct?”

“Indeed.”

“Does it pass through you? Does it leave no mark?”

“More like… things avoid me, if that makes sense.”

“Ah. Something like luck?”

“In a way.”

“But on the other hand, you can eat?”

 

He gestured vaguely towards the tea that the tutor was still drinking. Mister Fell followed his gaze and nodded slowly.

 

“I can… I do not need to.”

“Interesting.”

“It is more out of habit, I suppose, and also because I, well, I do love food.”

“Good for you,” Crowley replied, without sarcasm, “Do you sleep?”

“No need for it either. And I like to stay up during night time. It does give me more time to read, I must confess.”

 

Crowley smiled at that. The man seemed to be rather fond of books, indeed, and who was he to judge? He himself enjoyed reading scientific publications, especially anything related to stars and botany. Not an avid reader of fiction, on the other hand, contrary to what he had learnt of the tutor the previous day during their mostly one-sided conversation.

 

“So, the bottom line is that things that should harm you do not, and your flesh does not suffer from the needs as mortal bodies do.”

“Correct.”

“But the things that are… let’s say positive, such as eating, are available to you still.”

“It seems so.”

“No bad consequences, only the good. My, what a bargain, Mister Fell.”

“Aziraphale,” the tutor answered in a soft tone.

“Beg your pardon?”

“If you are to know my secret, you might as well know the true name I was given. And it is Aziraphale.”

“Strange name for a spirit.”

“Indeed.”

 

They seemed to have said all they wished to say on the matter. The conversation therefore turned to other topics. Aziraphale revealed the content of his basket to be more food, which pleased Crowley greatly. They ate the food together, with more tea, and talked about their respective works at the Ravenstonedale. Master Warlock was revealing himself to be quite energetic and having a mind of his own, now that the initial shyness was passed, and Crowley maintained that fresh air and exercise would help. If anything, it would exhaust him enough so that Aziraphale could make him stay in his chair. To what the tutor said that exhausting him to the point where he would fall asleep would not help him either.

The rest of the evening was spent like this, in friendly conversation, and when Aziraphale finally left him for the night, Crowley was feeling better and more hopeful than he had felt in years, even decades.

 

The positive effect that having even one person in the world who recognised and accepted you is always immense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, the reason why Aziraphale is chill about Crowley's situation. What do you think of it? :D


	7. Chapter 7

Aziraphale and Master Warlock were now in the habit of spending their mornings in the park of the Mansion to study. The tutor had realised that his young charge was indeed better able to focus when he was given the opportunity to move around and benefit from the fresh air. He was making impressive progress in things related to animals and plants, too, as he could apply the knowledge to the real world before his eyes. It was highly profitable to the boy and Aziraphale could not deny that spending his mornings in the park did some great good to his own morale as well. Mostly, of course, because Crowley was always to be found in the vicinity and because the blond man was growing to enjoy his company more and more with each day passing.

He would not have loved the adjective, being apparently a private and conflicted person – probably a by-product of his condition – but Anthony Crowley was a nice person, Aziraphale found. Moreover, he had an unlimited love for knowledge and a bottomless curiosity. Aziraphale had been delighted to find that he was indeed quite the scholar. Obviously, this rendered him all the more sympathetic to the fair-haired man. More specifically, Crowley was interested in everything connected to the natural world, especially astronomy and plants. He was much more knowledgeable about this than even Aziraphale was, as a matter of fact. The tutor ended up delegating his teaching functions to the man more than once when nature was concerned. Warlock seemed to enjoy the gardener’s company, and Crowley was incredibly gentle and patient with the boy. Aziraphale usually watched them interact from over the book he was reading, almost cooing at the lovely picture of the gardener pointing to this or that plant or bird and explaining things about them to the young boy, who was always making an effort to look serious and scholarly.

 

It had now been about a month since the two fellows had arrived at Ravenstonedale, and neither Aziraphale nor Crowley had gotten any glimpse of the Master and Lady of the house so far. They had not come back once from whatever business was detaining them in London. From what Aziraphale understood, Lord Dowling was a Member of Parliament and it apparently gave him a significant amount of work. As for Lady Dowling, she was entertaining the good people of London with evenings suppers, afternoon balls, and all the activities associated with the aristocratic world and its people. They were so busy that they hardly had any time to come back and visit their child. Aziraphale was trying not to judge, but he often wondered why people even had children in the first place if they did not want them. The poor child certainly did not ask to be born only to be discarded as unnecessary afterward. He had a lot of people around him to tend to his needs, yet the tutor could not help but thinking that it was not the same thing as feeling loved and cherished by one’s family.

 

His and Crowley’s curiosity was soon to be appeased, however.

 

As they were thus entering their second month at the Manor, one fine evening after dinner, the Majordomo summoned Aziraphale into his office. He apparently had some news to tell him – news which could not wait. They had not seen each other very often since the tutor’s first day at the Manor, truth be told, and the few encounters they had had were because one of them had crossed the other’s path and they had exchanged a few words about young Master Warlock’s advancements. It had been very formal and impersonal. Moreover, quite frankly, Aziraphale was under the impression that Mister Gabriel was not overly concerned about the boy’s doings as long as it did not interfere with his own – no doubt highly important – work around the house. Therefore, Aziraphale had not been too eager to make his reports. Now that the butler was calling for him, however, he did not think wise to make him wait. In consequence of what, he went to knock on the door of the study and entered as soon as he received the intimation. Mister Gabriel was sitting at his desk, writing something down on a sheet of paper, and did not lift his gaze to look at him. He simply indicated the seat across from him with an impatient gesture and started talking as soon as Aziraphale had sat down.

 

“Lord and Lady Dowling are coming back to the House soon. They are expected to arrive in two days.”

“Right,” Aziraphale felt his eyebrows rise up in surprise.

“Of course, you will be expected to present the progress made by the young Master.”

“Of course. When would that be convenient?”

“When the Lord and Lady see fit. You will be summoned.”

“Right.”

 

And that was the complete account of his interview with the butler, as he disclosed on the next morning to his gardener friend. Mister Gabriel had dismissed him as soon as he had uttered this information. He had not even cared to ask what the state of Master Warlock’s studies and wellbeing actually was. Nothing more than this short conversation, and a goodnight for his troubles. Crowley had simply looked at him blankly – well, blankness was all there was to gather from the sunglasses anyway – for a moment but had said nothing. He did not want to risk talking about the matter in front of Warlock. Who knew what the boy might go and reveal of their conversations? They were always perfectly proper in what they said and how they behaved in front of him. They talked more freely during their evenings at the gardener’s house. The bulk of Crowley’s feelings, by the way, was that the gardener did not like the people of the Manor, domestic or else. As for the tutor, he was reticent to voice his frustration and distrust as his friend did, but he had to admit that he agreed with the overall sentiment. There was something cold and distasteful about the people of the House. And he still was not sure why he was even sent here to begin with.

 

Regardless of Aziraphale’s general confusion, the House had been in a state of organised chaos of its own the whole day after that announcement, and a large portion of the evening and of the following morning. Everything was being prepared for the return of the Lord and Lady with careful – and borderline obsessive – attention to details. Aziraphale was particularly careful not to stand in the way, lest someone ask him to participate in the great profusion of movement and activity. He was more than happy to remain in the park and at The Shed in the meantime, most of the time with either Warlock or Crowley, and sometimes with both, as was previously established.

 

 

Lord and Lady Dowling arrived as expected, some time before noon, two days after the brief conversation of Aziraphale with the butler. All of the employees – Aziraphale and Crowley included – were standing in line in front of the House, expectant and stiff. Luckily for them, it was not a rainy day. The air, however, was still chilly, as summer was barely looming in the horizon. Not that Crowley minded the cold terribly – somehow, his condition made him rather immune to it. They were all in their best clothes, all clean and brushed and pressed. Master Warlock was standing between the tutor and the nanny, but he was clutching Aziraphale’s hand, not Michaela’s, Crowley noted with some satisfaction.

The carriage arrived at last and slowed in front of the House. Crowley held his breath and stood, expectant, eager to get a look at the two individuals who were going to step out of it. A man came out first, portly and middle-aged, with brown air and mustachios. He seemed to be generally severe but not unkind, if the lines on his face were any indication. A man prone to frown but also smile, interestingly enough. He looked at the line of domestics who collectively curtsied, as if compelled by the same invisible force, then started walking towards Mister Gabriel. A tall and slender woman got out of the carriage next. She was elegantly dressed but seemed tired from the journey, and perhaps annoyed at something. She had dark hair too, and Crowley could not see her eyes. She instantly made her way towards her son, who was still holding Aziraphale’s hand, and crouched in front of him.

 

“Warlock! My darling!”

 

The boy lifted her gaze towards her, but did not move at first. He probably did not even recognise that she was his mother. Michaela gave him a little nudge forward.

 

“Won’t you kiss your Mama, Master Warlock?”

 

He gave the nanny a look, then looked back at his mother, and took a step forward to kiss her. She seemed pleased, and her face – which had tensed up – relaxed. The boy looked up at Aziraphale, pointing out at him.

 

“This is Mister Fell. He tells me things.”

“Ah, yes! The tutor?” Lady Dowling looked up and smiled at the fair-haired man.

“Yes, your Ladyship.”

 

He bowed his head.

 

“Well, then, Mister Fell… please follow me and tell me more about my son’s progress.”

“Of course, your Ladyship.

 

Lord Dowling had already disappeared inside with the Majordomo, and it was now Lady Dowling’s turn to turn towards the house and disappear with Aziraphale and young Master Warlock. The rest of them unfortunate souls were left to their own device without a single word thrown their way. They had been waiting for about fifteen minutes outside for a glimpse at their masters. What a strange life. Crowley sighed and turned back heels, crossing the lawn in his long and odd gait towards his house. He had never been good at following orders and being passively obedient. Too many questions, too much attitude. But, well, this place was not bad. He was given a lot of space and very little instructions, all things considered. That suited his tastes better. In this world, what was there for a simple man of his condition to do, anyway? For a man with his condition, too, come to think of it.

He entered the warmth and comfort of his little abode, and went to prepare a few things for tea. He did not believe that Aziraphale would spend too long with Lady Dowling. These people rarely ever had time for the likes of them. As a tutor, Aziraphale was barely above the other domestics, no matter how contemptuous some of the more learned domestics – such as the butler or the nanny – behaved. They were small people, all of them, in the minds of the rich and powerful.

 

He put the kettle on and curled up in one of his armchairs, waiting for the tutor to come back and tell him about his interview with her Ladyship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Had stuff to prepare for the oncoming University year, and a few other fics to work on, so it took a moment. But here is the update, and we get to meet - briefly for now - Warlock's parents. Things might start to be more serious, too, so stay tuned ^-^

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> This is my first Good Omens fanfic, and I'm new to the fandom, so I'm sorry if some things seem a bit OOC. Just here to have a bit of fun, honestly.  
> Also, my native language is not English, so when I'm tired, I make mistakes and can't see them clearly when editing (edit: such as originaly forgetting to click the 'multiple chapters" thing x) ). Sorry about that.  
> I'm on [Tumblr](https://dragonsingondolin.tumblr.com/) if you want to come say hi!  
> -  
> I feel the need to point out that there is no castle or mansion in Ravenstonedale, Cambria. I just found the name interesting when I was looking at google maps to find a location.


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